


Out of the Dust

by nom



Category: Battlestar Galactica 2003, Doctor Who
Genre: Crossover, Episode Related, Episode: s01e05 You Can't Go Home Again, Jack/Cylon Raider, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-20
Updated: 2009-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:50:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nom/pseuds/nom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if it had been Jack Harkness who'd found a downed Cylon Raider in "<a href="http://en.battlestarwiki.org/wiki/You_Can%27t_Go_Home_Again">You Can't Go Home Again</a>"?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/omnijaxual/profile)[**omnijaxual**](http://community.livejournal.com/omnijaxual/) community.
> 
> **Spoilers:** "You Can't Go Home Again" (BSG 2003). Set between "The Doctor Dances" and "Bad Wolf" (Doctor Who).

Jack knows he needs to get back to the ship, the Battlestar. Whatever possessed the Doctor to want to visit this sad lost bunch of spaceships and people isn't clear. He suspects it may have something to do with the extremely squirrelly scientist the Doctor and Rose have been trying to corner for the past three days.

Jack had been bored. So when he heard these people were looking for pilots, and when he saw their fighter ships... Well, he's Captain Jack Harkness, there's not a spacecraft he doesn't love to get up close and personal with. Even just for a few days. If only he'd been able to ignore his stupid impulse -- someday there'll have to be a first time, right? -- he wouldn't be stuck where he is right now. Damned dustbucket moon.

Okay, no radio communication because of the dust. He's also got a broken transponder, a flightsuit with a hole in it, a damaged parachute, a mini-medkit, a switchblade, his Compact Laser Deluxe gun, and, after patching the hole in his suit, three-quarters of a roll of tape. The air on this moon isn't breathable, and the clock is ticking on the air he's got left in his flightsuit's pack. Let's see if there's anything he could use in that ship he shot down.

++

Well, look at that, the ship's alive. Not in the pink of health, admittedly, since he did shoot it, but it's some kind of cyborg biomechanical ship. You don't see those every day.

"Hey," says Jack. "You're alive. But you're hurt. And I'm stuck. Maybe we can help each other out, here?"

The ship doesn't answer. But the blood from its -- eye? visor? -- isn't looking so good. Jack decides to use parachute rags and more of his roll of tape as a kind of band-aid, hoping that'll help.

"Hey ship," he says, "I hope the band-aid's helping you keep your blood-loss down. Sorry for shooting you down -- well, you were shooting me too -- but still, no hard feelings, okay? So how about if now you help me, I help you back? And vice versa?"

The ship doesn't respond. After tying the large remaining chunk of his parachute to a pointy part of the ship as a kind of flag that he hopes will be visible to rescuers and watching his air supply dwindle some more, Jack gives it another try.

"So, ship, it looks like we're both stuck here. You're really goodlooking -- sleek, curvy, aerodynamic -- I haven't seen a lot of ships like you. But you don't seem designed to move on the ground, and in the shape you're in I don't think you can launch yourself. And I'm kind of running out of air here, so I'm not going to be around to flatter you for much longer. Unless you've got any air to spare, ship?"

++

Something clicks underneath the ship. Bingo! It's an access hatch. Since the ship just unlocked itself, Jack decides it would be impolite not to go visit.

It's a little smelly inside, once Jack's taken off his helmet, and a lot of it looks... squishy. Maybe the ship smells better when it's healthy, as in not shot? Still, the ship invited him in, so as a guest he'd better not be rude. Charm, charm's the thing. After all, his about-to-be host is a lot less smelly and no squishier than some of the other aliens Jack's conned.

It's also rather small inside. He wouldn't say womb-like, though maybe – well, there's plenty of room to wriggle around in any case, even if it's more like his crashed fighter's cockpit than his lovely Chula ship.

"Thanks, ship," Jack says, "I really appreciate you letting me in. So, looks like you're the strong and silent type, but still, sweet thing, the air in here is not the freshest. You wanna show me where your oxygen is?"

One of the more sponge-like squishy-looking areas starts kind of ... pulsing.

"Over here? Where you're...?" asks Jack, moving to touch a finger to the area. The bloodwarm pulsing spongy bits immediately retract, try to contract away from under his finger, but next to the spongy pulsing-bits area something that looks a little like a fleshy sea polyp extends itself towards his finger and, in the same rhythm as the pulsing of the rest of the spongy bits, pulses an orifice at its end open and closed.

In for a penny, in for a pound, thinks Jack, and he bends down, and puts his mouth to the polyp's tip.

Oh, yes, that is sweet, sweet oxygen that is being puffed into his mouth whenever the polyp opens its orifice. That's good, that's very, very good. Actually, something about the ship's oxygen mixture is maybe a little off, not quite made for human consumption because suddenly he's feeling a little dizzy, a little high, kind of mellow and a lot more horizontal than he thought he was.

But that's okay, just a little ways over there is another one of his little polyp-friends coming out and pointing at him, with the spongy-tissues pulsing -- don't touch those, the ship doesn't like that, but the polyp-mouth is waving at him, he just needs to crawl over there a little way to the front of the ship, and put his mouth on his new polyp-friend.

Wow, Jack thinks, as he mouths the polyp -- which definitely feels fleshy, and he doesn't think he's imagining how labial the orifice's edges feel -- he is definitely kissing up to the cyborg ship here, but maybe a bit more literally than he'd been planning? Right, planning, plan.

"Hey ship," Jack says muzzily, between breaths, "thank you. For sharing your air. Nice to get to know you better. You're alright. A good friend. Cyborg. Ship. Goodlooking on the outside, strong, silent, very ... interesting on the inside too. Hidden qualities and all." Definitely not his best lines ever, but Jack figures he's a little punch-drunk or fuzzy from the oxygen-mix or something, so he can be forgiven for not being at his most debonair.

And the ship is keeping the oxygen coming, which is good. Great. Also it's kind of warm inside the ship, so Jack decides to get more comfortable and takes his flightsuit off. Having his boots off inside his host is probably more polite anyway.

"Now what are we going to do to entertain each other while we're waiting for our respective squadrons to come rescue us?" asks Jack, between breaths. "You know, I think they'll be looking for me -- they knew I was bailing out, and it sounds like these people can't really afford to lose more prospective pilots. So yes, they'll -- "

Jack breathes some more, and remembers what they -- he was talking about, "Anyway, the Doctor and Rose are sure to start asking if I don't show up after breakfast. So what about you, your friends, they know you're okay? Will they be looking for you?"

Jack isn't sure, but after he asks some of the ship's plumper fleshy bits seem to deflate for a moment and he hears a sort of soft soughing sound.

"So you're not sure if they're going to be looking for you? That's -- that's rough," he mumbles, and pets one of the non-spongy fleshy areas a few hands-breadth away from the base of his polyp.

"Is it -- do they not know you survived? Or, did your squadron not bring field medics, um, mechanics with you?" Jack hears the soughing sound again, so he moves his hand and pets one of the plump bits that deflated and says, "I'm sorry, ship, I'm sorry," and keeps petting.

He's not letting himself think too hard about what he's doing, petting the innards of an enemy ship that's been abandoned to die by its cohort to try and comfort it. Anyway, he's sure it's all just part of his "cajole the ship into continuing to share oxygen with him" strategy so he can increase his chances of surviving.

After Jack's been sucking the fun oxygen mix and petting the ship for a while longer he notices, that, well, one of the plump bits he's been stroking has somehow gotten even plumper under his hand. Still feeling mellow and high and a little sad for his good friend Ship whose friends have abandoned it to die on this unprepossessing moon, Jack pets the plumpening, blood-rich flesh some more.

And, hmmm, interesting -- is that fleshy area maybe getting a little... moist? Jack rubs his fingers over the light sheen of moisture, and yes, that's definitely getting slick. "You like that, huh?" says Jack, and Ship quivers under his hand.

++

Oh what the hell, thinks Jack, sure, sex with a ship. It's not like it'll be the first time -- though normally it's a bit more virtual-reality sweet-talking and hot-and-heavy interfacing with the AI or the electronic control systems of the ship he's trying to steal.

Oh what the hell, thinks Jack, Ship's been a good host, and it's been left to die here, and Jack can at least show Ship a good time before ... -- he's pretty confident he can, after all, he is Jack Harkness, even if he's not at his most sparkling witty best right now. Plus it'll be a proper thank-you for sharing its oxygen with him.

Oh what the hell, thinks Jack. Beats dying alone, with no connection to another living thing. Because if Jack's honest with himself, he's not completely certain he'll be getting off this rock either -- shouldn't rescue have come by now? Is the dust making it too hard for his rescuers to spot the remnants of his Viper or his pathetic parachute-flag? Can the Doctor not get the TARDIS close enough?

++

"Ship," says Jack. "We're going to do this, and, you know what, you lucked out, because I am Jack Harkness, known in multiple galaxies as fun, friendly, and fearless when it comes to sex. Just give me a few pointers on what feels good, what feels less good, and what feels -- as one of my friends would say -- fantastic, and satisfaction is guaranteed."

Jack knows Ship is on board with this idea when all of Ship's fleshy plump parts give a tiny shiver at once.

++

Jack devotes the next several hours to careful tactile exploration of Ship's flesh. He already knows that Ship doesn't like having the spongy, lung-like flesh near its oxygen polyps touched, so he avoids those areas. Most of the visible ropy parts -- veins and tendons, he thinks -- either don't respond at all to touch or try to retract, so he avoids those too. But there are plenty of other parts of Ship that do like to be touched, stroked, petted, kissed, licked, and sucked -- really, plenty.

Jack learns which parts of Ship become noticeably plump or erect from touch, which fleshy nubs hide nerve clusters and pleasure centers. He discovers that some of the oxygen polyps can extend much further than others, but that the shorter ones have the most sensitive, lip-like orifice-edges.

Jack finds out which of Ship's warm folds of flesh become slick when touched, which areas tremble and respond most strongly to stroking with his hands, and which to licking and sucking with his mouth. At some point Jack gets naked, which maybe should have been embarrassing but really isn't, with the parts of Ship he's touching slick-hot-smooth against him.

Ship learns to show Jack what it likes by quivering and pulsing. Ship learns how to show Jack in which direction it wants him to stroke or lick certain parts of itself, or what areas it would like him to focus on next by delicately pulsing its flesh in sequence, pointing Jack to where it wants Jack to move to.

Ship learns to pulse and shiver in rhythms that match or provide a counterpoint to Jack's touches. Ship learns its pleasure and Jack's.

When Jack talks to Ship, suckling from an oxygen polyp, then murmuring against its flesh, Ship seems to thrum in anticipation. So Jack talks some more, saying things like "Just a few more breaths and then I'll suck that lower left nerve-cluster again. If you want me to," or "Do you like this?" or "Are you making those folds extra slick for me to rub against?" and "Do you want harder? Do you want faster? How about slower? Even slower? How about a little harder again and sucking the base of your polyp at the same time?" Oh yes, that's doing the trick, yes, Ship is having a good time, Jack can tell.

After Ship has had at least a dozen of what Jack thinks are its orgasms -- extended large-expanse quivering followed by polyp-stiffening and a sound that somehow combines lips smacking and a long sigh -- Jack stops holding off his own climax.

When he comes he's half-enveloped in and half-rutting against a part of Ship that's all warm soft slick folds of flesh and richly endowed with plump and pebbled nerve cluster nubs, gently licking the polyp-opening that's feeding him oxygen. Before he passes out, he remembers to say "Thanks Ship, I really enjoyed that -- I hope you did too. Next round later, okay?"

++

It's another hour or two before Jack wakes up. Ship feels a few degrees cooler, and the smell inside is different somehow, sharper and more reminiscent of decay. When Jack strokes Ship's nerve clusters and erectile tissues, he doesn't get any response anymore, and only in its deepest folds is Ship's surface flesh still slick.

It takes a few minutes more, but once he sees that some of Ship's spongy alveoli are starting to look less moist and acknowledges that the oxygen-mix from the polyps has become a little less rich, Jack has to acknowledge to himself that Ship is -- that he's alone now.

Jack doesn't allow himself more than another pat or two to the slackening flesh before putting his flightsuit back on and making himself handle Ship, Ship's parts, more roughly. He finds that pulling on Ship's tendons -- uninteresting or too sensitive before -- is now yielding effects, giving him access to different parts of Ship, like navigational systems and controls. Jack feels like a very macabre, morbid, possibly obscene puppeteer, but he knows he's close to the end of his air and time.

++

As soon as he's figured out how to manipulate Ship's thrusters and controls, he uses the last of his tape to write "Harkness" under Ship's wings and takes Ship's body up -- up, out past the moon's dust and gravity, its unbreathable air, up into the dark of the sky, out towards other humans and home.

++

In the Raider Resurrection factory, a Cylon Raider awakens, newly reborn. Although it knows that its new body has no damage, no trauma to its biomechanical brain from a firefight that impaired and corrupted some of the overrides in its programming, it remembers the sensations it had when it was damaged. It remembers what its previous body felt during its last hours. It remembers being wounded, being alone, and dying. But it also remembers that before it died it was not alone, that it felt pleasure. This Cylon Raider knows that its name is Ship, and that not every non-Cylon deserves to die.

+++

**Author's Note:**

> [story notes](http://nomanomynous.livejournal.com/2256.html#cutid4)
> 
> Feedback? Appreciated, here or [at LJ](http://nomanomynous.livejournal.com/1164.html).


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